


interwoven

by thessalonike (starblessed)



Category: Julie and The Phantoms (TV 2020)
Genre: 1990s, Childhood Friends, Dysfunctional Family, Family Feels, Gen, Good Parents Emily & Mitch Patterson (Julie and The Phantoms), Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Knitting, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 16:07:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30108525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starblessed/pseuds/thessalonike
Summary: Emily Patterson doesn'tset outto adopt her son's best friends... but if no one else is going to teach these boys to knit, heaven help her, she's prepared to do it herself.
Relationships: Alex Mercer & Luke Patterson & Reggie Peters (Julie and The Phantoms), Emily Patterson & Alex Mercer, Emily Patterson & Reggie Peters (Julie and The Phantoms), mentions of alex mercer/luke patterson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 84





	interwoven

**Author's Note:**

> i'm just... very attached to the idea of Emily being the sort of mom who ends up adopting her son's friends by default... obviously alex and reggie need someone to do it, because their own parents are sleeping on the job.
> 
> Find me on tumblr at [julies-butterflies](https://julies-butterflies.tumblr.com/)!

They break her heart sometimes, just a bit — her eager boy and his habit of bringing home strays.

Reggie’s been around forever, of course. Emily knows him almost as well as she knows her own son. From the day Luke first brought him home, back in the early years of elementary school — a scrawny little boy with scraped knees and gap-teeth he showed off every time he grinned — he won her over. Good thing, too. It was plain the boys got along like firecrackers. Luke and Reggie both had energy to spare, with just enough sweetness to make up for it. 

Emily watched the boys grow up together, mirroring each other step by eager step. Countless sleepovers, play dates, movie nights and “homework” sessions… after all these years, Reggie’s presence in their house feels  _ normal _ . She often finds his comic books laying around the house; he always has a spare change of clothes in Luke’s room; once, he slipped up and called Mitch dad, before turning such a bright shade of red Emily worried he was choking. When he first got his braces, back in seventh grade, she made sure to serve soft foods for dinner — because Reggie joining their table, even staying overnight, was a common occurrence.

His home life isn’t easy. That’s all she knows. It’s not polite to ask questions, but Emily has seen enough over the years. Whatever goes on in Reggie’s house… it weighs on the boy, though he never likes to speak of it.

Emily has noticed Reggie outgrowing his secondhand clothes, with replacements few and far between. Loud noises make him wince and duck his head; he can’t stand raised voices. He wolfs down any food that comes his way, as though worried it might try to escape if he takes his eyes off of it. More than once, she’s found the poor boy dozing on their living room couch, curled into himself and breathing softly; the dark circles under his eyes speak for themselves. Once or twice, she’s even caught the shadow of a bruise beneath the long sleeves of his flannel.

Emily doesn’t ask. She doesn’t mention it. It’s not the Christian thing, to poke your nose in other peoples’ business.

She  _ does _ always keep Reggie’s favorite snacks on hand in the cupboards, and stack his forgotten comic books on the table for the next time he comes over. There’s always a little extra food at mealtimes, just in case. She speaks softly to him, humors his endless questions, and washes his clothes with sweet-smelling detergent anytime he sleeps over. She never even complains when the boys hole up in Luke’s room for hours at a time, blasting their loud music and playing instruments.

In the Patterson home, Reggie is always welcome. That’s the least Emily can do for a boy who sometimes seems like he fits nowhere at all.

* * *

“What are you workin’ on, Mrs. P?” he pipes up one day, leaning forward in the chair beside her.

Emily glances up from her work. Being interrupted while knitting is one of her pet peeves — even Luke at his most energetic knows better than to “poke that dragon” — but Reggie’s eyes are wide, shining with genuine curiosity. She just can’t find it in her to be cross.

“A pair of socks,” she admits, holding the multicolored mess of thread up. It doesn’t look like much of anything yet — a work in progress. “I’m making a pair for each of Luke’s cousins. Winter’s coming up, and everyone needs to keep their feet warm…” She bites back a smile; this is  _ exactly _ the sort of thing her boys love to tease her for.  _ Aww, Ma, socks again? Nana’s not gonna invite us for Christmas if you keep this up. _ “Not the most exciting gift, I know.”

Reggie isn’t laughing, though. His eyes are fixed on her knitting needles, as they move without her even looking down at them. For a few seconds, he seems transfixed by the steady in-and-our rhythm of the needles— then, like breaking out of a spell, he shakes his head vehemently. “No! Not at all, I mean… everybody needs socks!” He lifts his gaze to her, a smile blooming on his face. “And who could turn down something made with so much love?”

Reggie just has a  _ way _ about him — of warming Emily’s heart, of endearing without meaning to. She chuckles, shaking her head.

“That’s what knitting is, Reggie. Everything you make has a bit of love in it. All the hard work, all the patience, all the care, pays off…” 

She tilts her head back, to the intricate wool cozy draped over the back of Reggie’s chair. Her proudest work. “And you create something beautiful.”

Reggie’s gaze lingers on her knitting for a few more moments, as though he simply can’t help it. Emily is just beginning to wonder, when he suddenly speaks up again, hesitant over the click of steel needles.

“Could you… teach me?”

When she raises her brows, he hastens to explain. “I’m, uhh — not so good with patience, but the care part, hey, I can do that! And the way you move your fingers, it’s not so different from playing the bass, or the piano, and —“ Reggie cuts himself off, breathless. It takes him a moment to realize Emily isn’t rushing him, just letting himself explain. His cheeks flood with color, but he meets her eyes.

“I really want to make something worth being proud of. Something beautiful.”

Emily’s gaze softens. She feels her smile grow. Reggie spends enough hours at their house anyways; if he wants to learn, there’s plenty of time to teach him. Before she can think better of it, her head inclines towards the basket sitting by the fireplace, overflowing with needles and yarn. 

“Take your pick,” she declares softly. “Why don't we get you started on Sock Number Two?”

* * *

Luke has a wide enough circle of acquaintances, but he’s picky about who he chooses to bring home. Never any girlfriends, which troubles Mitch; never anyone who isn’t a musician, which worries Emily. Throughout middle school, it’s always the same two faces — Reggie and Bobby, the older boy, who arrives at their door with discs of hard rock and shows Luke new ways to play his guitar.

Bobby doesn’t take up space quite like Reggie does. He’s polite, despite his rough outward appearance; his more subdued, soothing presence is probably good for Luke. Emily welcomes him whenever he comes by, but Bobby rarely stays for dinner. His parents pull up after every visit, in their sleek silver Honda, and greet Bobby with a kiss on the cheek. That’s the  _ least _ difference between him and Reggie… but Bobby never finds an extra place at their dinner table, or his own shelf in the family room, because he simply doesn’t need it.

It’s not that Emily doesn't like Bobby. She does, very much. Perhaps sometimes she just wishes… well. Wishes Luke was a bit less focused on  _ music,  _ a bit more social.

Then, one week into his freshman year, Luke brings home Alex.

Alex is a  _ gift _ .

Emily has never seen a teenage boy so conscientious of the space he takes up. He never seems at ease in their home, no matter how warmly Emily welcomes him, or how Luke and Reggie unashamedly claim rooms for their own. Alex never raises his voice indoors; he calls Emily “ma’am” and Mitch “sir”, politely meeting their eyes whenever they speak to him. He wears a golden crucifix around his neck, and tucks his shirts into his jeans.

From Emily’s limited perspective, she has no idea how Luke and Alex fell into the same circles, let alone become as close as they do, so  _ quickly _ . Luke is in and out of detention; Alex tutors middle schoolers in his free time. Luke talks nonstop about forming a rock band; Alex sings in choir every Sunday. When Luke offhandedly mentions “Alex can’t come over today, he’s busy with chess club,” Emily spits out her tea.

She thanks God for Alex every day, but never  _ understands _ him… until two revelations occur, almost simultaneously.

He and Luke are bent over their homework together at the dining room table. They should be safely out of sight, in their own secluded world… but from where Emily stands, polishing the dishes, she can just catch sight of them.

Alex’s pencil drums absently against his math notebook — an even, measured beat, with the unconscious rhythm of a drummer. The same music flows through his blood as thrums in Luke, and it drives him to distraction.

Neither boy notices, however — because their heads are bent together, close enough that their noses nearly touch. Alex’s eyes are gentle, and Luke’s smile is small, but impossibly warm. They both look at each other like the other’s plucked the moon from the sky, just for them.

_ Oh,  _ Emily realizes.  _ Alright, then. _

She never wonders about Alex after that. A part of her wants to ask (downright  _ itches _ to ask, her son, at least:  _ how long have you known, is it  _ only _ boys, are you alright, are you afraid, why won’t you talk to me, what can I do to help —) _

But neither boy says a word to her, so she bites her tongue. It’s not her business, after all. Not polite. Not the Christian thing to do.

(To be fair, a part of Emily always knew — from the moment eight year old Luke stared up at Patrick Swayze on the big screen, and exhaled  _ “wow,”  _ in a voice far too reverent for his own good. Mothers just  _ know _ these things, she tends to think.)

Of course, she sees Alex, too. The longer he hangs around — and over the years, he tends to linger at the Patterson house more and more — the clearer she sees him.

Restless hands, restless mind… never completely at ease for too long, even among friends. When his louder friends are taking up space in a room, he prefers to sink into himself. After a while, he’s reluctant to answer any questions about himself at all. Mentioning church makes him look vaguely nauseous, while any talk of his parents causes his gaze to lower as a shadow crosses his face. Some days, he does not wear the golden crucifix around his neck, and his shoulders seem all the lighter for it.

Emily never meets the Mercer family, but she certainly knows  _ of  _ them. Model members of their church; their home, according to Debbie from book club, is straight out of Better Homes and Gardens. Two children, a boy and a girl — both straight-A students, both destined for great things. The picture perfect family.

Slumped on her couch with his head in his hands, one leg bouncing restlessly as fingers tangle through his blond hair, nothing about Alex is perfect. His polaroid glossiness wears itself away by the day, by the minute... the boy revealed underneath wears a rictus mockery of a smile, and loneliness shines in his empty eyes.

Do his parents not notice? Do they not care?

Emily pokes her head in from the kitchen, and manages to make it look like she hadn’t been watching him when she says, “Alex? Would you like to stay for dinner tonight?”

When the boy looks up, shadows clear from his face, and Emily’s heart constricts all over again.

* * *

“It might be a little hard to get the hang of at first,” Emily says softly, modeling a basic garter’s stitch — slowly, for the fourth time, because Alex keeps fumbling the needles. “Practice makes perfect.”

“And patience,” contributes Reggie from Emily’s favorite cozy chair. “Patience is super important.”

Alex doesn’t break his intense focus on his work, but his voice is terse. “What do you know about patience, Reg?”

“Hey, ‘patience’ is my new middle name!” Reggie proudly holds up his green and blue creation, careful not to jar the needles twined deep within the yarn. “This is the  _ fourth  _ hat I’ve made this month, and every one gets better than the last.”

Every knitter has a niche; some excel at particular things. Reggie makes hats. Not… always excellent hats, or wearable hats, but he makes  _ a lot  _ of hats.

The important thing is, he enjoys making them.

Alex doesn’t look like he’s enjoying the effort to acquire a new skill at all. Emily’s chest aches at the focus on his face, the far-too-serious knot between his brows. When he fumbles the beginner’s stitch all over again, he sighs and pushes the yarn away.

“It’s no use,” he declares, turning to Emily with a face shadowed in regret. “I appreciate you trying to teach me, but… I don’t think I can learn, ma’am.”

It was charming at first, his ever-present politeness. After three years, though, it’s become more of a concern. She’d prefer  _ Mrs Patterson, Emily,  _ or even Reggie’s infamous  _ Mrs P. _ Anything is better than being held at a stranger’s-distance by a boy who, at this point, knows her son better than she does. Instead of remarking on this — she knows from experience that it won’t make a difference, deference to adults too ingrained in Alex’s makeup — Emily just shakes her head. Gently, she lays her palm over Alex’s own, guiding the knitting back to him once more.

“You’ve got restless hands, Alex. The best thing you can do is put them to work. Prove to yourself you can create something wonderful.” 

A furrow is set deep between Alex’s brows; he doesn’t look like he believes her. Gently, Emily shifts his grip on the knitting needles, and searches for a language he’ll understand… the same her son speaks on a daily basis. “If you can play the drums,” she declares firmly, “you can knit.”

Reggie catches her eye, raising his brows while pulling a baffled face. Emily, drawing on years of practice, ignores him. “It’s just following a rhythm. Not so different at all, you see?”

She guides him, stitch by careful stitch — never letting him miss a step. (Luke used to let her do this when he was a small boy, struggling to learn how to tie his shoes. Now, whenever she reaches out to him, he’s more likely to pull away.) Alex studies the movements raptly, his pupils flickering in minute twitches, as though committing it all to memory.

When she pulls her hands away, his keep moving — no guidance necessary. After a second, he lifts his head to look up at her. His eyes are wide, the shadows on his face chased away to illuminate the blue of his eyes and the whiteness of his grin. Emily has never seen him shine so brightly before; something affectionate and proud blooms in her chest.

“I knew you could do it,” she declares, and Alex’s smile is almost blinding.

_ God help these boys,  _ Emily can’t help thinking, as Alex laughs out loud at his own success while Reggie cheers from the sidelines.  _ Keep them safe from harm; show them what they are capable of; let them always know they are loved. _

That much is the least she can do… and these good-hearted kids deserve nothing less.

**Author's Note:**

> ( **coda:**
> 
> When Luke walks into the living room, a shout dies halfway past his lips. For a moment, he does nothing more than _stand there,_ frozen and gape-mouthed. When his hands plant on his hips, Emily remembers the little boy who’d throw tantrums over not being able to find his favorite pair of sneakers in the morning.
> 
> “Ma! What’s this? What are — you guys — _what_ are you doing?”
> 
> He swivels between his mother, knitting placidly in her chair… and his two bandmates, side-by-side on the couch, needles busy in their hands.
> 
> Reggie grins at him. “Making magic, man. Pull up some needles and get to work, we’ve got eight pairs of socks to finish before Christmas!”
> 
> Luke rounds on his mother, eyes bugging out in passionate grief. “Ma, did you _steal my band?”_
> 
> “We’re a knitting rock band now, Luke,” Alex deadpans. “That’s just our shtick.”
> 
> Luke’s bellow of rage is incoherent. Emily exchanges glances with her new knitting buddies, and bites back a grin. 
> 
> After all, it’s hardly her fault her own son never wanted to learn how to cross-stitch.)


End file.
